


get too close to me

by pippuri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Road Trips, anyways!! here's this, took me like TEN minutes to figure out what the fuck the tag for apocalypse world charlie was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29204457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippuri/pseuds/pippuri
Summary: the winchesters look at you like you’re some kind of fucked up second chance, and there’s no part of you that wants to stay in that awful, underground bunker, expected to be someone’s resurrected friend. dean won’t stop apologizing to you, and you try to make yourself be nice at first, but after the fourth time, you’re seconds away from punching him in the face, and you take rowena up on her offer to get the fuck out.//pure hate crime against me that rowena and charlie's roadtrip across the southwest was BARELY mentioned
Relationships: Apocalypseverse Charlie Bradbury/Rowena MacLeod
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	get too close to me

**Author's Note:**

> i have been thinking about this fic for a WHILE and is it what i wanted it to be? no definitely not but i had fun and that's all that matters <3

At first, you stay with the witch because she’s clearly the most powerful person in this twisted, fucked-up version of the world. There weren’t really any witches left back home, not since the witch hunts that lasted for most of your childhood, but you were just old enough to remember them. The way the only thing that could kill them in the end was an angel, and this universe seems bafflingly short on those. 

Anyways, the Winchesters look at you like you’re some kind of fucked up second chance, and there’s no part of you that wants to stay in that awful, underground bunker, expected to be someone’s resurrected friend. Dean won’t stop apologizing to you, and you try to make yourself be nice at first, but after the fourth time, you’re seconds away from punching him in the face, and you take Rowena up on her offer to get the _fuck_ out. 

She’s not terrible company either -- she shows you a spell that makes a car drive itself, and does a pisspoor job answering all your questions about this new world you’re in. You can’t tell if she’s being difficult on purpose, or if she really doesn’t know whether there was an E. Coli outbreak that took out the Pacific Northwest or not. She offers to drive you to Washington to check, but it's a two-day drive, and you never liked Seattle that much anyways. Finally, she tosses you her phone, and through extensive Googling and a couple phone calls to Bobby to double check facts from back home, you figure out your world dovetailed from this one sometime in early November, 1983. 

You put Rowena’s phone on the center console, and she glances over at you. “Find anything?” She asks, and you shrug. You’re not sure how to feel about the fact that all your memories have become obsolete, and even if you were, you couldn’t even begin to figure out how to tell this centuries old witch. 

Instead, you ask, “Did you know the other me? The one from here, I mean. Dean told me she’s dead.”

Rowena’s face pinches slightly.

“No,” she says. “We worked together once, but it ended … poorly.” 

She doesn’t talk for the entirety of New Mexico. You don’t have the energy to analyze that. 

/

You’re not looking for trouble, but two newlyweds end up slaughtered in the room next to yours. Rowena turns her nose up at helping, claiming that if they chose to spend their wedding night in a pay-by-the-hour motel, that’s essentially the same as asking for it, and you don’t bother mentioning that she was _also_ staying in the same motel. 

Sam had given you a wallet full of fake IDs before you left, and from the angry look on his brother’s face as he pressed it into your hand, you gathered this belonged to the other Charlie. Luckily, she had a badge identifying her as Ranger Dana Ripley, and it gets you in the door. The detective you speak with is so thankful to have any kind of help he doesn’t bother to question what a Texas Ranger is doing in eastern Arizona, nor does he question when Rowena shows up and lazily introduces herself as your supervisor, Dr. Pussy Galore. 

You suspect that has significantly more to do with whatever magic Rowena’s doing.

“At least now I know you have James Bond movies in this universe too,” you hiss at her when the detective’s back is turned, and she looks at you, faux-innocent. 

“I can assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says. “I’m simply here to help.”

The monster is easy -- something vaguely Bigfoot-like with a history of butchering young couples, and Rowena uses some of the musty red fur left in the room to track it. You can’t find anything in the “Local Legends!” pamphlet the motel has in its lobby about how to kill it, but you’ve never met anything that agreed with decapitation, and you burn the body after, just to be sure. 

You can’t make yourself thank her while you’re sober, so you wait until you’re at least four drinks in at a bar down the street from the motel. Alcohol in this universe tastes _good_ , and honestly, you’re fine with giving up all your memories if it means you never have to drink someone’s bathtub moonshine again. Or at least you’re fine with it right now, drinking a strawberry daiquiri that Rowena had convinced the bartender to give you. 

“You didn’t have to help,” you finally tell her, and you can tell she knows what you mean. 

“Dean would make Sam kill me if I let the doppelganger of his dead best friend get killed. It’s nothing personal,” she answers, and motions at the bartender to give you another drink. 

“I’m not paying for these,” you say instead, glancing at the empty glasses. Rowena laughs suddenly, and it’s almost human-sounding. 

“Darling,” she practically purrs, “what do you think magic is _for?_ ” 

You’re tipsy, and you’re trying to decide whether or not Rowena’s coming on to you, so you bite back a snarky comment about free drinks not being worth selling your soul. You don’t know if she sold her soul, anyways. Maybe magic works differently in this universe than in your own, and you feel the grip you have on this reality tilt a little. 

Which is why, when Rowena pushes you up against the door in your shitty motel room, you shove her away a little. She’s hot, and you’d hate to admit it, but she’s absolutely your type, but something feels wrong. Off. 

“Did you ever do this with her?” you ask, and Rowena tilts her head, and then makes a noise you realize is a laugh. 

“Never,” she says. “To tell you the truth, you’re nothing like her. Presumptuous brat,” and for some terrible, awful reason, that’s what makes you give Rowena permission to unbutton your shirt and push you onto one of the double beds. 

_I win,_ you think to the dead Charlie. _I win._

**Author's Note:**

> i went into this meaning to write a fun road trip fic and came out with this ?? 
> 
> as always thank u to bry not bc you proofread this but for watching the fly funeral episode with me like four times <333 the inspiration for this fic <3333


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